


Face of the Past

by penrosewriter



Series: The Adventures of Janelock Holmes [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Angry John, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angsty Jane Watson, Awesome Mrs. Hudson, Broken Promises, Crime Fighting, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, FemLock Big Bang 2015, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Genderbending, Humor, Jane Watson - Freeform, Janelock - Freeform, Kissing, Love, Murder, POV Sherlock Holmes, Romance, Sad, Season/Series 03, Sherlock's Violin, Sorry Not Sorry, Suicide, Violence, girl!john
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2018-12-02 02:45:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11500152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penrosewriter/pseuds/penrosewriter
Summary: He was the last person she ever expected to see again...after all, he was a face of the past. Tell me, how-what are you supposed to do when that which once was shadow-steps into the light?





	1. Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

> And now we are cracking into Series 3!! I am really excited for this one (But I think I say that at the beginning of every story I post ;) )  
> ...And, I also have some sad news. It will most likely be a few weeks until I post again. I am going to a very remote area with limited internet (or computers). But I will spend my time there writing up chapters and (hopefully) shorts. I'll try to keep up with comments whilst I am there.

_Well, here I am again._ Jane thought to herself, leaving a bunch of lavender at the grave. Sherlock never was the flower type of person. It had taken nearly two years to return here, yet here she was. Right back where she started. They said time healed all wounds, yet, it still couldn’t heal this one. Not that it ever could.

***

Saliva was intermingled with blood and sweat. Every time he budged, the chains on his wrists dug into his skin and his ribs creaked in protest. The welts on his back deepened, and the bruises were mostly purple and black. He had to make up something, and quickly.  
 _“…If I come home now, I will catch them in the act.”_ Finishing the fib in Serbian, Sherlock watched the brutish man leave in rage.

One down, one more to go. Whoever this man was, had one of the final links to Moriarty’s web. If he lived through this…then he could...

_“Now my friend, it is down to you and me.”_ The man began, rising.

Perhaps his ears were a bit damaged as well. That voice sounded almost like…  
 _“You have no idea how much work it took to find you.”_ The Serbian man continued.

Seizing Sherlock by his overgrown curls, he drug his bloodied ear to his lips.  
“Now you must listen carefully. There is an underground terrorist attack in London that could change the world as we know it. You are being recalled to London. Sorry…” Releasing his hair, Mycroft set to unlocking Sherlock’s chains. “But the holiday is over…brother mine.”  
In spite of himself, Sherlock smiled. He was going home.

***

Rubbing her eyes tiredly, Jane checked the clock. Two more hours of work, then she could get back home. After today’s appointments, Jane was exhausted.

“Jane?” Hearing a knock, she watched her sister-in-law, Mary, come in.  
“Is Samuel Gall here yet?” Jane asked, checking the schedule.  
“No, but Stacey wanted me to remind you of that date you agreed to.”  
“Date?” Cursing, Jane glanced down at the sticky note she’d made to remind herself. She had completely forgotten about that. Perhaps she could say she wasn’t feeling well.  
“…If you say you’re sick for the third time in a row, that won’t bode well. Stacey just wants you to go out there and have fun with someone. Apparently, she met someone ‘as lonely as you’.” Mary mimicked their boss at the end.

“I’m not lonely. And it’s none of Stacey’s damn business whether I see people or not.” Jane continued crankily, typing out a report.

“Well…I’ll check on Gall.” Mary said, slipping out.  
Leaning back in her chair, Jane peeled off the sticky note and crumpled it into a small ball. She just didn’t know why people couldn’t leave her be.

***

After getting stitched and bandaged up, Sherlock finally got a haircut for the first time in half a year. Laying in a barber chair, a man was shaving his face at Mycroft’s beckoning. Annoyed that he couldn’t even shave his own face, Sherlock flipped absently through a newspaper. After being looked after a doctor for nearly two weeks, Sherlock’s health had come back to its formal glory.  
“You have been quite the busy little bee. Travelling through 26 countries-”  
“-29.”  
“Breaking up everything from drug cartels to nuclear deals. You could even be qualified at this point to be a comic book hero.”

“It took me two years to dismantle Moriarty’s network. You couldn’t honestly expect me to stay in a mere handful of countries.” Sherlock shrugged.

“Anyhow, I suppose a thank you wouldn’t go amiss.”  
“Thank you? Whatever for?” Sherlock frowned.

“For wading in! If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be in there.”  
Hand raising, Sherlock stopped the barber and painstakingly sat up.  
“Wading in?” Sherlock echoed, eyes brightening angrily. “You sat there for nearly 12 hours, and watched me get beaten to a pulp!”  
“I got you out!” Mycroft defensively answered.  
“No, I got me out. Why didn’t you intervene sooner?”  
“I couldn’t risk giving myself away! It was hard enough smuggling into those corrupt ranks, with the noise and the-people.” Mycroft wrinkled his nose in distaste.

_You were enjoying it._ Sherlock bitterly thought, sinking back down.

“I didn’t know you spoke Serbian.” Sherlock changed the subject.

“I didn’t. Not until the plane trip there. It had some Slavic roots, so it wasn’t tricky to work out. It took me all of forty minutes.  
“You’re slipping.” Sherlock hummed.  
“Middle age, brother mine, comes to us all.” Mycroft said, giving a strained smile.

Finishing up, Sherlock put on black slacks and a white button up shirt.

“I suppose we should address the elephant in the room. I understand seeing Dr. Watson will be a priority.” Mycroft coughed.  
“If there’s time.” Sherlock nonchalantly answered, buttoning up his shirt.

Raising his eyebrows, Mycroft could see past the plain as day charade. It was obvious to anyone how desperate Sherlock was to see her again.

“Does she know _anything_ about your survival?”  
“Of course not.” Sherlock scoffed. “God knows what’d happen if she knew.”  
“Really? Nothing?” Mycroft’s brow furrowed. “And no word whatsoever before seeing her?”  
“I thought I might surprise her.”  
“Has it ever occurred to you that your presence won’t be welcomed?”  
“Why would it not be?”  
“It has been two years, Sherlock. Dr. Watson has moved on with her life.”  
“What life?” Eyes lowered, Sherlock finished tucking in his shirt. “I’ve been away.”

Suppressing his true opinions, Mycroft let Sherlock continue on with his delusions.  
“Anyway, where is she tonight?”  
“How am I to know?”  
When Sherlock looked at him and raised an eyebrow, Mycroft sighed.  
“You will find her at Marylebone Road. Nice little spot, In fact, I’ve dined there on 12 occasions.”  
“Excellent.” Turning, he looked impatiently at Mycroft. “Now, where is it??”  
“Where is what?”  
“You know exactly what.”  
Heels clacking, Angela entered, holding his _Belstaff_. Looking at it as he might an old friend, Sherlock slipped it on. And finally, he felt himself again. Well, almost. There was still a moderate amount of work to be done.

Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon sweeping over the streets of London. He reacquainted himself with the vendors, the smell, the sounds of cars, the talking, the shops. He needed to know which shops had closed and opened in his absence. How much of his homeless network had disappeared completely. What kind of criminals roamed the London streets these days…Sherlock needed to know it all.

***

Zipping up her dress, Jane uncapped her mascara and swept it across her eyelashes. Applying a soft nude lipstick, she blotted it. Packing her clutch, she put in her gun, phone, and lipstick. Closing it, Jane went down the stairs and made her way to the door.  
“Jane, are you going out tonight??” Mrs. Hudson called.  
“Yeah, I’m just going to eat with someone. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”

“Really?? With who?”  
“Don’t know, some American. Don’t wait up for me, cheers!”

Heading out, Jane headed to the tubes, steeling herself for the battle that awaited her.

***

When the sky turned to hues of red and orange, Sherlock caught a cab. Getting in, he gave directions and then sat back. Tapping his fingers against his knee, Sherlock watched the cabbie meter. Before he even knew if he were to return or not, he planned. Over and over he planned how he would tell Jane he wasn't dead. To just wait at the flat, to have someone else tell her, to send her a text or phone call.

He ultimately decided on this. Adding a bit of humor to the unhumorous scenario. While she might not find funny now, perhaps they would laugh about it...eventually.

Pushing open the restaurant doors, Sherlock walked confidently in. He had the plan, the dialogue, the way Jane would react, even her date’s reaction predicted. Scanning the room, he saw her honey blonde hair and a simple black dress. It was Jane. Smirk sliding off his face, Sherlock tensed up, breath catching in his throat. There she was.

Looking up from her menu, Jane’s eyes caught his.


	2. Pas Mort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has a few things to explain to a woman who just won't listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, to answer the question: Sherlock is not dead, and neither am I!!  
> A few people did ask where I was, and what was happening, and I am sorry. I went to the Dominican Republic for a bit, and did not have the best of internet connection up there. It was a lovely place, and I really appreciated the opportunity to learn about a vastly different culture!   
> But, enough about me. I know why you are all here! Bring on the angst!

 

_Was that…?_ Shaking her head, Jane looked down at her menu again. She must be going mad. Thumbing through the menu, Jane had no taste for the food she could barely pronounce. And for the cherry on top, her date was a posh American looking for a one night stand. What luck.  
“Of course, that’s when my father lent me a small loan of a million dollars.” Tossing his head back, he gave a loud laugh, making Jane cringe.

"Excuse me for a minute, Darling. I have to relieve myself." He said, leaving.

Her clutch right by her feet, Jane slowly reached down to get it and leave.

"Can I help you with anything, Madame?" A nasal Frenchman inquired.

Jumping, Jane put a hand to her heart, dropping the clutch by her feet, earning an arched eyebrow from her server.   
“Sorry, you startled me.” She breathed, reopening the menu.  "I'm looking...I honestly don't know any of these wines."

Alcohol to get her through this wretched dinner at least.

"If you would like my humble recommendation...this one," he pointed at a title. "It is...well, like a face from the past." The French man airily continued.

He was using poetry to describe wine? Now Jane knew she really was in the wrong restaurant. Huffing, she closed the menu.

"Ah...great. I wouldn't know if I'd had it or not though." 

"It gives an element of surprise." The waiter continued airily, adjusting his glasses.

"Great," Jane absently handed him her menu. "Surprise me then."

"I'm certainly endeavoring to do so." He half snapped, walking away.

Raising her eyebrow at the strange waiter, Jane donned a fake smile as her date-Kevin-Caleb? rejoined her.

“Now, I bet you’re wondering how you got to be on a date with me?”  
“I am…rather curious at this point why I agreed to this.” 

“I was in the doctor’s office a few days ago...and I just…saw you. And...I just knew that perhaps there’s something here between us. A sexy, smart, and just _great_ girl like you would do great with me!” He continued, taking her hand.

_How articulate._ Jane dryly thought as she pulled her hand away.   
“Well…Kevin…I don’t really see things that way.”  
“What?” Giving a half laugh, the smile leaked away from his eyes. “Just-give me a chan-”

"I have brought this lovely selection of _le visage du passé_. This wine was created not too long ago, it is a good selection for an evening like this-" The waiter reappeared, holding a bottle.

"Yes, yes, thank you."

"-Tonight there are other selections of wine such as _Retour des morts_ , and my personal favorite, _Pas mort_." 

"What-do you know this man?"

"No-I don't." Turning to him, Jane politely smiled. "Thanks, but we're really..." Looking at him for the first time, Jane's words stumbled to a halt.

"You..." she whispered.

It couldn’t be. She had thought she was just imagining something. But it seriously was Sherlock Holmes, standing there. Flashbacks came. His body broken and bloody over the pavement, his solitaire music stand. Her standing alone in a crowded street, looking for a face that was no longer there.

"Me. Hello." 

 Color visibly leaving Jane's face, she said nothing.

"Interesting thing, a tuxedo. It gives familiarity to friends, anonymity to waiters."

Growing ever paler, Jane stared at him.

"This...you...you..."

“Excuse me.” Sherlock said to her date as he dipped a tablecloth into a glass of water and rubbed the eyeliner off his upper lip.

"Well, short version...not dead." 

Sitting heavily back down, Jane stared at the tablecloth. Concerned, Sherlock leaned in closer to her. Noticing a blueish hue to her skin and the clammy look to it, he noticed her eyes couldn't seem to focus.

"Jane...?"

Face suddenly glowing red, she jumped to her feet. 

"How-HOW ARE YOU ALIVE?! YOU-JUMPED OFF A BUILDING-TOLD ME YOU WERE A FRAUD!! WHY? This can't be-it-can't!!" In a rage, she pushed Sherlock back and pummeled him with her fists, making his bruised and cut body scream in protest. Suddenly swaying, Sherlock caught her in his arms.

"Y-you-" whispering, she suddenly went limp.

Supporting her, Sherlock realized the entire restaurant went silent. He also realised that Jane Watson of all people had fainted. Even in the midst of the semi-horrible situation, he had to catch himself from laughing at this terribly ironic event. One of the strongest women he had ever known…had just fainted.

"We-well...I will...just..." the man with bleached teeth backed away slowly before exiting the restaurant.

"Don't bother returning." Sherlock muttered under his breath.

"Ah-pardon me monsieur...must we call an ambulance?" The manager was asking.

"No-too much to drink. If you don't mind, I'll take her out to get some fresh air." Sherlock said, helping her out.

Walking a bit, Sherlock helped Jane sit down on a bench. Reaching over, Sherlock took her hand and rubbed it vigorously, trying to wake her up. After several minutes, Jane stirred slowly. Eyes fluttering open, Jane looked temporarily confused before meeting his eyes. Jerking away from his touch, Jane breathed shakily and clenched and unclenched her hands.

"Two years...two _bloody years_..." Jane managed throatily.

Silently, Sherlock undid his bow tie and looked away from her, unsure what to do now.

"You left me. How? How could you possibly do that?"

"You're still not feeling well, perhaps we should..."

"I don't want an Advil, I want answers!!" Jane snapped. “Where’s Kevin?”  
“You mean that disgustingly rich man, who has another woman, and a premature ulcer? He went home.”  
“Good to know some things never change.” Jane shot another menacing glare at him, before rising.

“It’s freezing. I’m not going to just stand out here and talk to you.”  
"Perhaps a cup of tea then..." 

Her cold eyes unrelenting, Jane stalked into the first available coffee shop, Sherlock at her heels. Ordering black coffee for them, Jane sat down and crossed her arms, leaning back.

“Well?” She asked.

“It is a…bit of a long story.”  
“I’ve got all night.”

When there was no indication that she’d say anything else, Sherlock cleared his throat.

“There were multiple ways to do it. I wanted to avoid dying, if at all possible. The first scenario involved hurling myself into a parked hospital van filled with washing bags. Impossible. The angle was too steep. Secondly, a system of Japanese wrestling…”  
“You know, you can be really stupid for someone so thick.”  
“What?”  
“Sherlock, I could care less how you did it. What I want to know is…why.”  
Why would she not want to know _how_? It was far more interesting than _why_. _Why_ was a bit more precarious to explain.

 “In the past two years, I’ve been-country hopping. Moriarty had a vast international network that needed to be stopped. I went in, and stopped him. While he is dead, the remnants are not.”  
“So in order to do this, you’d have to have an accomplice. Mycroft knew, didn’t he.” Jane said, arms folded.  
“…Yes…”  
“Anyone else?”  
“No one of importance.” Sherlock replied, eyes on the ceiling.   
“Sherlock.”  
“…Molly.”  
“Ok. Nice. And..?”  
“A few of my homeless network, and that really is it.”  
“Alright…alright.” Sipping her coffee, Jane gave an angry smile, nodding slowly. “So Molly, your brother, and around a hundred tramps.”  
“No!” Sherlock laughed nervously. “Twenty-three at most.”  
Blood boiling, Jane grabbed him by the collar and punched his lip. Standing up, Jane left again.   
“Jane! Just-listen!” Sherlock sputtered, following her out onto the sidewalk.

“NO! Listen to what? To these-these excuses!? Why couldn’t you do it, Sherlock?! Why couldn’t you tell me you were alive?!”

“It’s a bit complicated to explain. I guess…you might have slipped up? You know, let the cat out of the bag?”

“Oh!” Whirling around to face him, Jane’s cheeks flushed angrily. “So it’s my fault!?”  
“No! No, it’s not!” Sherlock denied this fervently.   
“You couldn’t tell your once was girlfriend!”  
“Once?” Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “But I thought-?”  
“What? That we’re dating now? That we’ll marry now? And why the hell would I do that?”  
“Because…you’re in love with me.”   
“No. No I am not.” Jane flatly replied. “I thought you trusted me! I thought you believed in me! But, apparently not, I can see.”  
Mouth in a hard line, Sherlock searched for a way to explain.   
“Why are you back? Why did you come back to London!?”

When Sherlock didn’t answer, Jane looked him coldly in the eyes, the wind whipping her hair around her.

“Why?!”  
“…There’s an international terrorist attack on London. I need your help.” Sherlock admitted, his hands in his coat pockets.   
“My help...” Jane huffed a dry laugh. “…Why, so you can have someone to show off too?”  
“No, because I need you, _Jane_.” Sherlock felt a surge of frustration and anger. How could he possibly get Jane to understand? How could he get her to just _listen_?  
“No. No. I’m not falling for this ‘sweet-talk’, not for another second.” Turning, Jane started to walk away. Stepping forward, he grabbed her hand to slow her.

"Oh come on Jane, admit it! You have missed this. The blood pumping through your veins, the adrenaline, adventure."   
Face nearly purple with rage, she wheeled around on one heel, before snatching the lapels of his coat and head-butted him. Hunching over, Sherlock clutched his nose, blood sliding out of it in large masses.  
Snatching some napkins from her clutch, Jane shoved it into his chest as she whispered viciously:  
"No, Sherlock. If you think for one second that I missed this, you're wrong." 

Expression hurt, Sherlock carefully applied the napkins to his red nose. Going to the street, Jane’s arm shot up rigidly to signal a cab. Breath rising and falling, Jane shot a look at Sherlock from the corner of her eye.  
"You coming?" She nearly snarled.

Blinking, Sherlock tried to make sense of what she was saying. She hated him, wished she never met him, and now wanted him to go back to Baker Street.  
"Unless you want to sleep wherever." 

"I like Baker Street just fine." 

Sherlock remembered when he was in a car with Russian assassins. He remembered being squished between Mycroft and The Woman once in a car. One awful time, he had to ride home with his headmaster when he was nine. But this car ride was the most uncomfortable ride in a car Sherlock had ever had, and ever would.

Stonily staring straight ahead, Jane wouldn't even look at him. Every time he tried to say anything, he was silenced by her silence. He counted down the moments until they'd arrive home.

Home. A word that had been foreign to him until now. Home had been affiliated with sleeping in hotel rooms, boxes, cells. Home had been a plane, constantly traveling.

He wondered how much had changed. If they kept the wallpaper. If the smiley face had been washed off. He wondered if he had his science equipment left. More importantly...did Jane keep the violin? That sent a pang of terror through him.

More important than the equipment, the wallpaper, or even the violin, he wondered what had happened to Jane.

What happened to her? Where did she go after he left? Did she stay in 221B? How many weeks or months did it take for Jane to smile again? Did she cry often? Or keep herself busy? Knowing Jane, he chose the latter option. She most likely threw herself into as much work as she could muster.

 The fact he had to assume everything of her…to _not know_...felt different. He used to be able to read her like a book. But now...she was nothing but questions to him. So many questions that would have so little answers.

Car rolling to a stop, Sherlock took out his wallet.

"I'll pay."

Ignoring him, she unbuckled and stalked out.

"Rough night with the missus? Don' worry," Winking at him, the driver laughed. "She'll come around."

He hoped so. Entering, he saw Jane struggling with her coat. Hearing no noise from 221C, Sherlock’s brow furrowed.

“She’s not dead. She just went to go and play cards with Mrs. Turner, that’s all.” With that, Jane went up the stairs.

He lingered briefly at Mrs. Hudson's door before going up the stairs. The worst feeling was stepping in. It didn't smell as he remembered it. The smell of wood and age was there. But the chemical smell left. The flat was spotless, save the dust.

Looking in the kitchen, Sherlock knew Jane must not come home often. No mugs in the sink, or half eaten pieces of toast and beans. Just three beers in the fridge, some rotting oranges, and a pizza box.

At least that hadn't changed much. The fridge had always looked like that.

Looking at the stove top, Sherlock swallowed. The kettle was gone. Noticing where Sherlock was staring, Jane cleared her throat.

"If you want tea, ask Mrs. Hudson when she gets back. She can let you use her kettle."

"You don't drink tea?"

Ignoring his question, Jane looked away.

"I want you to know something. Until you can find other accommodations, this is my flat, my rules. You can sleep in your old bedroom tonight." Jane told him, not looking his way once.

"Thank you Jane." He sincerely said.

Nodding, Jane finally looked at him. She looked exhausted. Emotionally and physically exhausted. Just what had Sherlock done to her?

Stopping momentarily on the stairs, Jane gazed at Sherlock, taking in the sight of him. He looked older now, his eyes seemed to hold more wisdom and age. His build had grown from spindly and nearly skinny to well-built and muscular. His face was more rugged, losing its pallid glow. His eyes…were pleading, sorrowful, and filled with regret.

She hated to meet those eyes. If Jane looked at them, she knew that she would throw away the dignity and pretence that she struggled to uphold. If she threw away that, nothing could stop her from running to his arms.

Sherlock nearly took a step forward, but restrained from it. A resigned look creeping in, he respectfully maintained a distance.

“Goodnight, Jane.”  
With those words, the eye contact halted as Jane’s ire returned with double strength. Forcing her body to turn away, Jane went up the stairs, each step sounding like a nail in the wood to both of their ears.

Swallowing his disappointment, Sherlock soundlessly slipped into his room-his old room. Cracking open his window, Sherlock breathed in the icy air.

Of course Jane would not do it. What did he expect, for her to just jump into his arms, to forgive him? Yes. Yes, he had expected it. She was as loyal as they came and yet…even the most loyal of people could not forgive this deed.

Dust curled around him as he sat on the bed. It seemed that neither Jane nor Mrs. Hudson had a particular desire to enter this room. On this rare desire did Sherlock actually desire some dusting. Turning off the lamp, Sherlock kicked his shoes off and lay amongst the dusty sheets, becoming reacquainted with the smells and sounds of Baker Street.

***

Closing her door, Jane struggled out of her shoes and stripped off her clothes, throwing them into the hamper. Sliding a T-Shirt over her head, Jane let out a long and angry sigh. He was supposed to be dead. She had spent two years of her life, believing his death to be her fault. Jane hadn't allowed herself to believe anything other than that he was dead. And now...she didn't have the strength to even look Sherlock in the eyes.

Turning off her lights, Jane crawled into bed, her legs tangled with her ice cold sheets. Staring up at the ceiling, Jane tried not to think about the fact that Sherlock was just a flight of stairs away. That he was alive. That he…was not dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure some people might be confused about Jane fainting. But that is what actually happened in Sir Arthur Conyan Doyle's stories! I thought it would be good to throw in a classic twist every now and again.  
> And purely by coincidence, the last time I posted was the 14th...and voila! It is now the 14th!


	3. Back to Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock begins to get back into the swing of things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was dutifully reminded that it is this series 2nd anniversary!!! (Thank you, thisstoryisawesome!!). Also, I am sorry about how bad I am at updating. The truth is, I have been working on a writing project that has really been taking up most of my mental energy and concentration. But, I am determined to finish out this story and get through the entirety of series three!! With that, I hope you guys enjoy!

Jane snuck out early that morning. Quietly dressing, Jane braided her hair and tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the creaking ones. She wouldn't eat here, that would wake him. Jane refused to even brush her teeth. There wasn't anything a breath mint couldn't fix.

Keeping her shoes in her hand, Jane went down the stairs and outside before she slipped her shoes on. In her own home, and she was hurrying around Sherlock. She couldn't speak to him, couldn't face him.

He heard her quiet steps. No clunky sounds, meaning it was just her socks. Didn't even go to the washroom, she was in such a hurry to leave. Going out there while she was attempting an escape was adding an extra foot to his grave. Laying on his back, Sherlock stared at the ceiling.

As much as Sherlock hated it, Mycroft was right. Jane moved on with her life. Everyone had.  Looking for his blue dressing gown, Sherlock remembered it had been tossed. Opening his wardrobe, he was not at all to see it empty, save some old mothballs. Sighing, Sherlock got up. He'd have to go and buy new clothes.

***

Sherlock rarely (if ever) ran errands. But this morning had been the most domestic one he had in two years. It had been a productive few hours of buying a bow for his violin, clothing, and telling a few people that he was not dead.

The clothes Sherlock bought looked similar to his old ones. Or as similar as he could manage. Some of those clothes he had to long to recount. Perhaps a bit of change was good, he supposed. Hanging up the last shirt in his closet, Sherlock shut it and sighed. He couldn't do this. Sit and do nothing. Sherlock had to be doing something.

Hearing the door to 221B open, Sherlock knew Mrs. Hudson was back. Yet another person to tell he was not dead. What would she do? Scream at him…punch him…or never want to see him again? So far, only Lestrade had hugged him (though he did get cursed at). Going down, he took a deep breath before knocking on her door. When no one answered, Sherlock realised how much it seemed like a burglar was at her door.

Pushing it open, a dumbstruck Mrs. Hudson stared at him, pale, before releasing a shriek, then a sob.

“Mrs. Hudson, I-"

When she strode to him quickly, Sherlock flinched, before realising that she was pulling him into a tight embrace.   
“I-don’t understand-you bloody Holmes’ boys coming back like stray cats.” She gave a breathy laugh then another cry.

“Hello, Mrs. Hudson.” Sherlock smiled, hugging her back.

After hugging and crying him for several minutes, Mrs. Hudson stepped back and blew her nose.  
“Sit down, I’ll make us a cuppa-and you’re going to tell me everything that’s been going on since you were gone-or as much as ya can.”

Sniffling, Mrs. Hudson set to making him and herself a cup of tea. Gingerly accepting the tea from her, Sherlock gave a small smile.   
“Thank you.”

***

“London-a cesspool of criminals and the scum of the earth. It’s not a question of ‘who’ right now, but a question of ‘who knows’. Currently, a number of people are possible markers. If there is any remote change in any of their current schedules, it means the chess game proceeds.” Sherlock explained, making his move.

It had been three days. Three days since he had been back in Baker Street, two days since the press found out, and three days since he had seen Jane. She was in after he ‘went to bed’ and was up before he left his room in the morning. Sooner or later, they would need to talk. But for once in his life, Sherlock understood the concept of ‘taking it at your own pace’. Jane needed time. Lots of time it seemed.

 “Very interesting. But, waiting might not be the best option, as the terrorist alert has been raised to critical.” Mycroft impatiently noted, making his move.   
“Hm. Boring.” Collecting some money, Sherlock leaned back again. “Your move.”  
“The attack is coming, and it will come soon.”  
“A secret terrorist organization’s planning an attack-that’s what secret terrorist organizations do, isn’t it? It’s their version of golf, for God’s sake.” Sherlock snorted.

“A man died revealing this information.”  
“Then perhaps he shouldn’t have.”

“Are none of your markers acting in any suspicious ways as of yet?”  
“Not yet. It will be revealed in something subtle. A blog post, someone leaving their office an hour early, a misplaced Lonely Hearts ad.” Sherlock explained. “Your move.”  
“I have given the prime minister reassurance that you are working on the case. And yet you have been sitting in this flat for three days now doing nothing but staring at a wall.”

“I am on the case, in fact, we both are. Look at the two of us.”  
When the heart started buzzing, Mycroft fumingly dropped his tool. “Oh bugger!!”  
“You can’t handle a broken heart, how very telling.”  
“Neither can you, it should seem.”

Refusing to let Mycroft’s scathing comment reach him, Sherlock feigned ignorance at the accusation.

“Bouncing the conversation about you and your…emotions? Also quite telling.”  
“Don’t be smart.”

“Oh, that takes me back. ‘Don’t be smart Sherlock, I’m the smart one’.” Sherlock donned a higher, girlish voice to imitate Mycroft.   
“I am the smart one.”  
“I used to think I was an idiot.”

“Both of us thought you were an idiot Sherlock, there was nothing else to go on…that is, until we met other children.”  
“That was a mistake.”  
“A ghastly one, what were they even thinking.”  
“Probably about us making friends.” Sherlock surmised.

“Ah yes…friends. Of course, you do that sort of thing now.”  
“Oh, and you don’t? Ever?” Sherlock emphasized.   
“If you seem slow to me Sherlock, take a moment and try to think about what my world might look like. I’m living in a world of goldfish.”  
“And you haven’t found yourself a…goldfish?”   
When Sherlock looked at him suggestively, Mycroft donned a look of pure revulsion.

“Change the subject… _now_.”

“Alright then, let’s play a game. Let’s play deductions.”  
“No! There is a high level terrorist threat, and we are wasting the day playing these ridiculous-games!”  
“High international terrorist alert, our modern world could change as we know it, let’s just pass the time.” Sherlock said, tossing the hat to Mycroft, he caught it in a clenched grip.

“I find nothing interesting in the hat of a well-travelled anxious sentimental unfit creature of habit with appalling halitosis”

When Sherlock smirked at him, Mycroft gritted his teeth, knowing he’d been caught, and threw the hat back.  
“Isolated as well.” Sherlock added.

“Why would he be?”  
“‘He’?”

“Judging by the short hairs in the hat, larger head, and by balance of probability it is in fact, a male.”  
“And you would know this how? Short or long hair, you don’t chat much with women.”  
Interrupting the game, Mrs. Hudson entered with a tray of tea.

“I can’t-I just can’t believe it. Sherlock Holmes, sitting in his chair again.” Mrs. Hudson laughed, clapping her hands together.

“Yes, it really takes one’s breath away at the thought.”  Mycroft remarked.

“Now I know he isn’t showing it, but he’s truly pleased to see you.”  
“Which one of us?” Sherlock dryly asked.

“Both of you.” Gesturing vaguely, Mrs. Hudson went into the kitchen.

Mycroft’s turn.  
“Stains show he’s out of condition, and he’s sentimental because the hat has been repaired three, four.”  
Catching the hat, Sherlock turned it a few times.  
“Five times.” Sherlock retorted, tossing it back. “Very neatly. The cost of the repairs exceeds the cost of the hat, so he's mawkishly attached to it, but it’s more than that. One, perhaps two, patches would indicate sentimentality, but five? Five’s excessive behaviour.”  
“Hardly. Your client left it behind. What sort of an obsessive compulsive would do that? The earlier patches are extensively sun-bleached, so he’s worn it abroad in Peru judging by the alpaca fur.” Tossing it back to Sherlock, Mycroft raised a challenging brow.

“Wrong. Icelandic sheep wool. Similar, but very distinctive if you know what you’re looking for. I’ve written a blog on the varying tensile strengths of different natural fibres.”

“Oh, there’s a crying need for that!” Mrs. Hudson sarcastically called.  
The brothers exchanging a common look of annoyance, Sherlock moved on to his next point.

“Yet you’re still missing his isolation.”  
“I don’t see it.”  
“It is as plain as day and-” Sherlock hummed.

“- _Tell me_!”

Giving an exasperated sigh, Sherlock explained:  
“Anyone who owns a hat like this clearly doesn’t go outside a day.”  
“Maybe he doesn’t mind being different.” Mycroft suggested, patronizing Sherlock’s meager statement.  
“Exactly!” Sherlock agreed, slipping on the hat over his bushy curls. “Why would _anyone,_ mind? _”_ Sherlock asked, looking over Mycroft’s way.

Mouth opening and closing it a few times, he laughed haltingly.  
“I’m not- _lonely_ -Sherlock!”

Anyone who was lonely would say it. And for perhaps the first time, Sherlock felt a little sorry for Mycroft. He never had met someone like what Jane was to Sherlock. He never had true friends or people in his life who weren’t used for personal gain. He had no one. Sliding the hat off, Sherlock looked grim.

“How would you know?” Fingering the hat, Sherlock set it down.

Acting as if the past few sentences had not transpired, Mycroft stood up straight.

“I’m going…give my regards to Jane, would you? Try to make sure she stays out of trouble.”

Once Mycroft was gone, Sherlock caught Mrs. Hudson listening to the conversation. Winking at her, he turned to his laptop.   
“Right…back to work.”

Looking at the ever growing inbox, Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck. It’d been only two days since he got back and the requests for cases was ever impending. He could very well do it alone…but after two years of doing just that, Sherlock was in want of some companionship. If Jane wasn’t up for the task, then perhaps…  
***

"I really am not surprised by this turn of events." Clara sighed as she and Sherlock walked the busy streets together.  
"How is Rose?”   
"She is only a little girl. We all thought you were dead." Giving him a pointed look, Clara kept up her stride.   
"You as well?" Sherlock asked.  
"Me as well. Though, it's in your blood to return when everyone has moved on."  
"Including Jane."  
"It has been two years, Sherlock. Jane isn't the type to become Ms. Havisham and wander 221B for twenty years. She moved on too, you know. The only reason she's still there is for Mrs. Hudson." 

Not sure what to say, Sherlock kept silent. Side glancing him, Clara sighed.

"Jane still cares for you. It may take some time, but Jane will come back to you." 

Sherlock wished he could believe her.

"So, why are you here?" Clara asked.  
"I am in need of an assistant today."  
"Assistant? On your cases?"  
"Yes..?"

“I won’t be any good. I can’t even solve Cluedo with my daughter.”  
“Cluedo is an illogical game that makes no sense.” Sherlock replied, bearing a look of distaste.

“To those who just can’t win it, yes.” Clara snidely replied, going up the stairs to Baker Street. “Why all of the sudden, Sherlock? You said you were called back here, so what could be so important as to be dragged back?”  
“A suspected terrorist attack. I don’t know how, or where, but it will happen, and soon.”

“I see…so while you are searching for clues, you’ll be moving on to other things.”  
“Yes. I’ve already received more cases then I could possibly receive.”   
Passing her his laptop, he let Clara read through a few.   
“Hm. There’s a girl whose fiancé disappeared…a fiancé she’s never met.”

“How sentimental…” Sherlock tried to say it with disgust, but found that he couldn’t.   
“So, call them in then?” Clara asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Jane and Sherlock aren't getting much screen time (book time?). But, that will change, soon :)


	4. New Dynamics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your average Mum and Sherlock start their awkward duo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you all thought I was dead! So, I have some sad news and good news. The sad news is, I probably will not update as much as I would like to. With my job, University work, and another writing project, "Sherlock" has taken a back burner. The good news is I AM NOT ABANDONING THIS SERIES! I will finish this one and the next installment. And very soon, I will be churning out some new short stories for my filler installment. You are all so incredibly patient!!

“And you’ve been spending all this time wondering where he’s gone off to? Yes?” Sherlock prompted gently, eye level with her.

The thirty-year-old woman was seated next to her stepfather, whose eyes held concern and worry for his stepdaughter.  
“Ye-yes…” The woman whimpered, blowing her nose.

“And you honestly thought that he was the love of your life?”  
“And-now-I’ll-never-never even meet him!” She wailed, sobbing.

Rising, Sherlock forced himself not to look at the young lady’s father as he went to Clara and whispered:   
“Stepfather posed as the online boyfriend.”  
Eyes huge, Clara looked between them, hand going to mouth.

“What??”  
“Breaks heart, she swears off relationships and stays at home-but her paycheque keeps rolling in.”  
Rising, Clara stalked over to the man and slapped him.

“You-you slovenly son of a-”

“Thank you, Clara, that’s enough now,” Sherlock said, steering her back.

“Susan, you need to listen carefully. This man right here….”

***

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell and shout about that. But what a trashy thing to do! Really!” Clara snarled as they exited a cab. “Is this what you deal with every day??”  
“Yep.”   
“Where are we now?”  
“A skeleton…we’re going to see what the commotion is all about,” Sherlock replied as they entered the tunnel.  

“This one’s got us all baffled,” Lestrade said sheepishly, following Sherlock.  
“I don’t doubt it.”   
Looking around the room, Sherlock observed everything. Dark and dismal, stone walls, the strong scent of mildew and fungus, and a desk with a skeleton. Pulling out his tools, he lay them on the desk and set to work, Clara observing over his shoulder. Smelling the body, Sherlock deciphered the smells.  
_Pine? Spruce?_ Waving those possibilities away, Sherlock identified the tree as cedar, and also smelled… _new_ mothballs. Smelling again, he caught carbon particulate and fire damage. Looking around the wet room, Sherlock arched his eyebrows at the small irony.

“Did you find anything out…?” Clara asked in an almost quiet reverence.   
“Mn…possibly.”  
_“Show-off.”_

“Shut up Jane, would you?” Sherlock whispered.  
“Sherlock?” Clara asked, frowning.   
“Nothing.”

Looking Clara up and down, Lestrade glanced at Sherlock.   
“So…is she Jane’s replacement?”  
“Jane’s not…in the picture anymore.”  
“What, really??” Aghast, Lestrade looked between Clara and Sherlock.  
Hearing a rumbling and cement float down, Clara tapped Sherlock’s shoulder.  
“Are those trains?”  
“Trains.” He confirmed, turning back to the skeleton.

Looking it over, Clara touched the skeleton and hummed.   
“I think this is man was in his forties…fifties, possibly.”  
When the men in the room looked surprised at her deduction, she stepped back.

“We had to learn it as nurses. Anatomy, physiology, you know. I’m sorry…did you want to…?”   
“No, no, it’s fine.” Sherlock dismissed.   
_“What? You’re jealous of her now?”_ Jane taunted.

“Shut up!” Sherlock snapped.

“Sorry-! Did I..?”

“No, not you, just…myself.” Sherlock trailed off and went back to the skeleton.

“I’m sorry…but this skeleton doesn’t make much logical sense. It’s supposed to be at least 150 years old, yet it can’t be any older than-” Clara continued, touching the skeleton’s bones squeamishly.

“-Six months old.” Sherlock finished for her, snapping his magnifier shut.

Looking over at the desk, Clara opened it and pulled out an old book. Taking it from her, Sherlock looked at the dust with a sarcastic smirk before blowing it off and showing his audience.   
“How I Did It…By Jack the Ripper?!” Lestrade exclaimed.   
“That really is impossible though!” Clara looked at the book with wide eyes.   
“Welcome to my world.”  
_“Show-off.”_

“Just stop it,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth. Why couldn’t Jane just leave him be?  
“You…care explaining what happened?” Lestrade asked.   
“I won’t insult your intellect by doing that.” Sherlock quietly said, rising.  
_“Now you’re trying to be modest? A bit late for that, don’t you think?”_

“No please! Insult away!” Lestrade laughed.

“The-the-the-skeleton is six months old, it’s dressed in a shoddy Victorian outfit from a museum. It’s been displayed on a dummy for many years in a case facing south-east judging from the fading of the fabric.”  
“Wait…so this whole thing…is a fake case?!” Lestrade blinked in surprise.   
“Yes.”  
“Wow…looked so promising.” He huffed.   
“Which was the intent and purpose.”

“Why though? That really doesn’t make any sense.” Clara asked, exchanging glances with Lestrade.

“Why indeed, Jane!” Sherlock called, leaving.  
Looking after him, Clara shook her head sadly. If it was in her power, she’d find a way to get Jane to open her heart a bit. Sherlock missed her so much, and just wanted her affirmation once more; it was a pitiful sight.

***

“So what’s this place?”  
“Another client…he said he had something interesting for me to see, regarding a disappearing man.”

Knocking on the door, Sherlock tossed the hat to his client.  
“Thanks for holding onto this.” The man said, nodding at him and sliding it back on. “Hi, my name is Howard Shilcott.”

“Clara.” Shaking his hand, she blinked and looked around the interesting room. All over his small flat was models of tiny trains, some of them running and some just at a standstill.

“My girlfriend’s a big fan of your work.”

“Girlfriend??” Sherlock laughed before catching Clara’s warning glare.

Clearing his throat, he nodded for the man to proceed.

“I like trains.”  
“Ye-s.” Sherlock confirmed, hand extending to his flat.   
“I work on the Tube, on the District Line, and part of my job is to wipe the security footage after it’s been cleared. I saw something a bit bizarre.”

Showing them the footage, Sherlock leaned in and frowned. A man entered the car, and in the next camera, he never got off. And it wasn’t just any man…it was someone…someone he had seen before. Wracking his brain, Sherlock tried to recall the face.   
“Now, this was a week ago. The last train on a Friday night, Westminster station, and this man gets into the last car.”  
“‘Car’?” Clara recited.

“Not, ‘carriages’ but ‘cars.’” He tersely informed her.

Giving the man a distasteful look behind his back, Clara glanced at Sherlock.   
“He likes trains.” Sherlock shrugged at her annoyance.

“Apparently.” She whispered back. “Couldn’t this man have jumped off the car-carriage?”

“There’s a safety mechanism that prevents the doors from opening in transit. But there’s something else. The driver of that train hasn’t been to work since. According to his flatmate, he’s on holiday. Came into some money.”  
“Bribed, possibly.” Sherlock hypothesised.

“Nothing runs underground. No disused buildings, train stations…how’s that, Mr. Holmes?”  
“I know that face…” Sherlock whispered aloud, closing his eyes.

_Taking himself to the Tubes in his mind, he went down the escalator. Walking briskly, he caught sight of the man. Walking closer and closer to him, Sherlock got a good look at his face. One of the markers. It was Moran. A chess piece had been moved._  
“Sherlock!” Clara touched his arm, making him jump.   
“Are you alright? You have just been standing on that staircase for ten minutes now.”  
“I know that face.”  
“The man? Who?”  
“Never mind that. Fancy some chips?”  
“I really would love that. But, I do have to go home to Rose.”  
“Ah, yes, of course.”

Walking down the staircase, they made their way towards the exit.

“Sherlock, what was today about? You don’t need a companion, not really. So why?”

Standing on the stairs, Sherlock said nothing before glancing down at Clara.

“You’re seeing someone.”

“It’s…not been very long. Just two weeks.” Clara admitted, smiling. “Don’t tell anyone, will you? I’m thinking of introducing him to Rose…possibly.”

Nodding, Sherlock went down and hesitantly gave her a hug.

“I hope you and Rose are happy.” He said, kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

When he turned to leave, she put her hand gently on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Jane will come back. It will take time, but it will happen, I promise.”

He did not know how to reply. Eyes darting away, he left the flat, feather-like snow whipping about.

***

 Sitting at her computer desk, Jane read through some of the medical reports. Since it was November, most were usually the common cold and flu. But Jane Watson had one of those disgusting days dealing with everything from thrush to undersized testicles. Sighing, Jane typed in subscriptions for the patients.

“Hey, Mrs. Novak cancelled her appointment,” Mary announced, opening the door.

“Alright. Then after the three o’clock, there are no more appointments for me?”  
“Looks like it,” Mary confirmed. “Are you going to see Sherlock after work?”   
Startled, Jane looked up at Mary.   
“ _No._ ”  
“Oh c’mon, you two have to make up at some point!”  
“What does John think about…all of this?” Jane gestured vaguely.   
“Well…he’d like to go and give Sherlock a piece of his mind, but I talked him down. He wanted to know if you’re okay with everything that’s been going on lately.”  
“Yeah…yeah, I’m alright.”  

“You’ll have to come around at some point, Jane.”

Casting a glance at Jane, Mary closed the door, leaving her to her thoughts. Spinning in her chair, Jane drummed her fingers on her knee. Mary was right…they’d have to be at least on speaking terms at least.  
Besides, Jane felt she might need to apologise to Sherlock. Saying she didn’t love him…didn’t ever want to see him again…perhaps was a bit not good. But…remembering his cold and limp hand, his dead eyes boring into her. Anger resurfacing, Jane kept typing. How could anyone forgive Sherlock for doing something so wretched? She would not go see him.

“Oi, Jane, there’s…there’s someone here to see you.”  
“What? Who? I swear to God if it’s Sherlock, I’ll…”  
The door opening, Jane stood to her feet, rigid.  
“Hello, Doctor Watson. I see you have kept….busy.” Mycroft said, eyeing her office.  
“Mycroft,” Jane growled, practically snarling.  
Sitting down again, Jane folded her hands and crisply crossed her legs.  
“How has the civilian life been?” Mycroft asked, sitting on the chair opposite.   
“Small talk has never suited you.” Jane coldly replied.  
“Yes…then, I shall get straight to the point. As Sherlock has most likely pointed out to you, there has been a severe breach of security.”  
Jane kept her face neutral. “And you want me to make sure that your little brother is doing his job.”  
“If you would be so kind.” Mycroft dryly requested.

“No. You know, I won’t be. Every time we have seen each other Mycroft, it has been a meeting about Sherlock and who gets to hold the leash. Have you ever thought about what Sherlock might want? That he doesn’t necessarily feel like obeying your every whim?”  
“And since when was the last time he has obeyed my ‘whims’?”  
“More than he lets on. Why don’t you just back out of the case for once, and just let Sherlock do his bloody job!! He certainly doesn’t need either of us around for that!” Jane snapped, a migraine starting to appear.

Eyebrow raised at the outburst, Mycroft coyly sat back.   
“You would think that you are happy to see Sherlock again.”  
“Happy?” Jane huffed. “Happy. That he was dead, that I saw him, dead. And now, he’s here again, little explanation as to why he did what he did. How can you ask me if I am happy?”  
As Mycroft sat there uncomfortably, Jane continued.  
“And furthermore, you knew?? You know, you could have at least _hinted_ about Sherlock’s status! You had two years to tell me, so why didn’t you?”  
“I couldn’t risk the possibility of you blabbing to anyone, now could I?”  
“I have been trusted by you with national secrets before. Sherlock and I uncovered a lot of things, that I kept my mouth shut over. Hell, I was strapped to a bomb, and I didn’t say anything. And the one thing that I needed to hear the most, you were too afraid to tell me.”  
“Afraid-! Those national secrets were those that you were foolish enough to find out yourself, I never once told you those.”  
“My point still stands. And besides…if you do reveal these little secrets, you might just find a laser over your forehead.” Mycroft smiled pleasantly at her.

“Tch! I don’t even need that threat to keep my mouth shut. I’m not as simple as you seem to think.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but your’ next appointment is here…” Mary said over the intercom.

Rising, Mycroft adjusted his suit jacket and took his briefcase and umbrella in hand.

“If I can be of any assistance to you with the moving process, I will happily do so.”  
“Goodbye, Mycroft. And never intrude into my workplace again.” Jane said, sitting down.

“It is funny…you want nothing to do with Sherlock, but you can’t help defend him.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“So sorry…just thinking out loud.” Opening the door, he was gone.

Working with her patient, Jane’s chest seemed to swell with rage.  
_What a coward. He comes into my office to chew me out, yet…I won’t see Sherlock. I just can’t._  


***

…Or so she had said. But, here she was again. Looking up at the tall building, Jane exhaled through her nose and walked slowly to 221B. Getting bumped into, Jane irately looked back at the offender.

“Excuse you.”

_Londoners these days._ When he shot her a strange look, Jane’s heart jumped. Call it soldier’s instinct, but something was not right. She had to get inside, now. When Jane rushed for the door, she felt something akin to a bee sting her neck.

Immediately, it felt like she was fighting against a storm in slow motion.

_“Whenever you get a chance, find out what your abductor looks like.”_

Oh. Something Sherlock had once told her about. Reaching up, she tried to grab at a sock hat, to reveal who this was. But…she could barely even move her arm. Eyes closing, she wondered where Sherlock was. Why…why wasn’t he here?  
“Sherlock…” She whispered.

 

 

 

 

s 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffie! As penance, I will be updating this story again by the weekend. :)


	5. The Gal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a race against the clock

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And another chapter is out! Two in a week (Better than what I've done in a while, haha).

Walking the brisk streets with a latte in her hand, Clara sighed and rubbed her neck. After this morning, she didn’t think it was a terrible idea to let Rose sit at home and do some homework and watch Telly. After all the recent events, she knew Rose needed some time to work things out. Her twelfth birthday had recently transpired, which meant the girl wanted to be alone more and more. As much as Clara understood, it did hurt to come home sometimes and the only words you would hear is:   
_“Hey, Mum.”_

Phone chiming, she picked it up, expecting it to be from Rose or Jane. But, it was neither.

“I thought I got rid of spammers…” Clara sighed as she read the text.

Sent 5:34 PM-

_Save souls now!_

_James or Jane Watson?_

_Saint or Sinner?_

_James or Jane?_

_The more is Less?_

“What…?” Eyes narrowing, Clara read it a few more times.

Gut sinking, she tucked her phone away. Clara did not have a good feeling. She couldn’t read it…but perhaps Sherlock could.

Heavily breathing, Clara rapidly knocked on Baker Street before Mrs. Hudson opened the door.   
“Clara??”  
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Hudson. Is Sherlock in?? Please tell me he is!”  
“Clara??” Sherlock called from upstairs, sensing her apprehension.

Jogging up the stairs, Clara gave him her phone.

"Sherlock, that-this text. Read it. I thought it could be some sort of Bible spam, but...read it."  
Translating, Sherlock's face lost its colour. Dropping his food, he ran down the stairs. Following him, Clara chased him out the door.

"What does it mean?? Is it about Jane? Is it?!"

"How far to St. James, the Less? You go to church there, yes??" Sherlock asked, rain dripping on his face as he looked up to the sky.   
"Yes! It's twenty minutes by car."  
"Too slow, too slow, too slow," Sherlock muttered frantically, pacing in the street.

"Sherlock, you're in the middle of the road!!" Clara yelled.

"Behind me Clara!"

Seeing a motorbike with two riders, Sherlock saw his ticket. Holding his hand up, he stood in the center of the street.

"Off!” Shoving the man and the woman off, Sherlock passed a helmet to Clara before speeding down the street.

"Tell me if you get another text!!" Sherlock shouted over the roar of the engine.

"O-ok!"

Driving in silence, Sherlock wished for the thousandth time he hadn't returned. If he hadn't, Jane wouldn't be in this mess. It was his fault.

"Getting warmer Mr. Holmes, You have about ten minutes" Clara read aloud, voice shaky.

"What are they going to do to Jane??"Clara asked.

"I-don't know!"

They could do anything to her. Something barbaric. Something treacherous. Sherlock's mind filled with ideas. Two days from now, they could be reading an article on how her body washed up on shore. Stomach lurching on that thought, Sherlock tried to delete that thought without luck.

"Eight minutes and counting..." Clara said gravely.

Seeing a roadblock, Sherlock swerved it dangerously, making Clara scream and clutch onto Sherlock tighter.

"Damn it-we're off course!" Sherlock snapped. 

Fixing the map in his mind, he turned right into an alley, changing the ETA from 8 minutes to 5.

"Hang on..." Sherlock whispered under his breath.

"Better hurry-things-are-heating up in here..." Clara read, her voice carrying an edge of hysteria.

"Jane...what did you do?!" Sherlock growled under his breath.  
"A two-minute delay-we only have two more minutes!" 

Two minutes. Mentally redirecting the path, Sherlock swerved on. The icy rain beating at their skin, Clara and Sherlock raced down the alley and through the pedestrian tunnel. 

As they neared the church, Clara got the text and started crying.

"Sherlock-Sherlock-oh dear God-no-"

Snatching her phone, Sherlock lost all feeling in his body.

_Sent 6:10 PM-Too Late. Jane was quite the gal :D_

At that moment, Sherlock heard cheers. Head snapping over to the church courtyard, everything made sense. A Guy was on the top of a pile of wood, fire swirling around it. Eyes filling with tears, an indescribable desperation filled him completely. He didn't care what happened to him anymore. Just not to Jane.

"MOVE! MOVE!!!" Sherlock shrieked, tearing through the crowd.

His mind drew a complete blank, the only thing he could think of was pulling Jane out. Tearing through the bonfire, Sherlock started pulling the pieces of the wood out that weren't completely engulfed in flames. If he moved quickly and constantly, he could prevent catching fire.

"Hel-HELP!" He heard a weak voice call from under the fire.

Locating the cry of distress, Sherlock rushed over and kept working, Clara sp

"JANE! JANE!" Pulling a log away, Sherlock reached. Grabbing her arm, he gave it a hard yank and dragged her out.

Pulling her far away from the fire, Sherlock lay her on the cold grass as she coughed and tried to breathe.

Unzipping her jacket, Sherlock batted away the smoke from her clothes.   
"Jane, stay with me. Keep your eyes open. Jane!!!" Sherlock pleaded.   
Eyes fluttering open, Jane's pupils dilated as her eyes tried to focus.

"Look at me...stay with me..." Putting his hand on her cheek, he tried to keep her awake.

"Ugh..." Jane moaned, her head lolling.

Everything looked blurry except for Sherlock. His eyes were ten times brighter than usual, his hair a wind-whipped mess, and his cheeks stained blood red from the cold November air. Confused, Jane wondered why. Why did Sherlock look at her as if she were the most valuable being in his life..?

***

“She’s stable. We’re going to keep her under observation overnight to make sure her lungs are clear. But, it’s a good thing you got her out when you did. A second later…” The doctor let her words hang in the air. “Would you like to see her?”  
“No.”   
Clara glanced worriedly his way as he begun to walk away. Following him, Clara’s brow furrowed.   
“Sherlock, Jane would love to see you! You saved her life!”

“Goodnight, Clara.” Coat swishing behind him, he opened the doors and was gone.

Sighing, Clara went into Jane’s room to find her awake. Sitting beside Jane, Clara gave a relieved smile.  
“How are you feeling?”  
“Fine…yeah, I’m fine.” Sitting up slowly, Jane looked around. “Where’s…where’s Sherlock?”  
“He said he had some work to do. He said hello.”  
Instead of anger, regret and sadness seemed to brim in Jane’s eyes.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of action, a lot of drama, some OC feels, and setting of the stage. This has probably been one of my favorite chapters to write! See you all (hopefully) soon!


	6. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Jane figure out the final piece of the puzzle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the last chapter of "Face of the Past"!! As always, sorry that I stink at updates!

 

“And then, he was asking ‘oh, where are my keys’, but as always, they were in-"

“-My pocket.” Sherlock’s father finished with a sigh.

Tapping his fingers on the chair, Sherlock listened to his parents go on about their past activities over the span of two years.

“Now, Sherlock, the invitation still stands. We still have an extra ticket to Les Miserables, and you are more than welcome to come.” Sherlock’s mother continued, showing him the ticket.  
“As always, no. I’m sure Mycroft would be more than delighted to attend.”

“Is this a bad time?” Sherlock heard someone say quietly.

Turning around, he saw Jane standing in the doorway, the sunlight shining on her hair and eyes, making them stand out more. Meeting his eyes, she nodded slightly at him.

"Jane..."

"Oh! That's Jane!" His mother spoke up excitedly.

"You're busy...I can come back." Jane said, moving back.

"No, no, not busy. They were just leaving, in fact." Having them stand up, Sherlock moved them to the door.

"Oh, we are?"

" _Yes_." He said through clenched teeth. As he was closing the door, his father jammed his foot in at the last moment.

"I hope those awful rumours have been cleared?" Sherlock's father asked.

"Yes."

"And you'll call more? Been worried terribly, y'know?" His mother asked him.

"She has. Promise Sherlock?" His father asked.

"Promise," Sherlock mumbled.

When his mother patted him on the cheek, Sherlock jerked away and shut the door.

Watching them leave through the curtains, Jane looked back at him.

"Who was that? Clients of yours?"

"Um...my parents, actually." Sherlock explained, twiddling his fingers.

"Your parents??" Jane exclaimed, watching them get into a cab.

"Yes...”

"Oh...wow...they're so..."

Waiting for her response, Sherlock looked inquiringly at her.

"Ordinary."

He was relieved she didn't say normal. Smiling, he decided to have a go at humour.

"A cross that I must bear." He said dramatically.

And at last, for the first time since he'd seen her again, she smiled. She gave a small, hesitant chuckle. Sherlock didn't know if Jane would ever do that again in front of him. Didn't know if she'd even be willing to see him like this.

"I thought your parents would be happier to know you're not dead."

Looking down, Sherlock stayed quiet. Staring at him, Jane put two and two together.

"They knew too, didn't they?" The cold edge in her voice returned.

“Once again Jane, I am sorry!” Throwing up his hands, Sherlock looked at her apologetically. “Sorry.”

She looked angry and sad again. Looking at the patch of gauze over her eyebrow, he nodded at it.

"Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. Yes, I am." Jane replied, unconsciously touching it. Looking over his shoulder, she noticed his laptop.

"What...is this?" She asked, gesturing at the laptop.

Happily, Sherlock showed her. Progress. They were still careful around the other. But...it was enough. When the man didn’t appear in the next video, Jane raised an eyebrow.  
“Yeah, that’s…weird. Isn’t it possible for someone to have tampered with the tapes.”  
“No. The man who presented these didn’t accept any bribery to tamper, and besides, he didn’t have the knowledge to do something so advanced…” Slowing down, Sherlock stood up.  
“Sherlock?”  
“Wait-no, no, I know where this is. Let’s go, and grab that torch!”  
“Wait-where are we going?!” Jane asked, following after him, grabbing the torch on her way out.   
Arriving at the tube, Sherlock began walking casually. Sighing, Jane wished Sherlock would tell her what he was doing. Reaching a maintenance tunnel, he looked at the locked grate and casually pulled out a picklock.

“This is the way to get there.”  
“It’s illegal.” Jane pointed out as Sherlock picked the lock and hurried in.  
“Slightly, yes. Stopped you before?”  
Sherlock had a point. Following, they shut the gate and went down the stairs. It was all dark, and it smelled musty. To Jane, she didn’t think that anyone had really been down here in quite some time. After reaching the bottom, they reached what looked like…  
“An abandoned station?” Jane said, looking around.  
“Yes, after World War II. But, this isn’t why we’re here. Watch your step, the tracks have electric charges.” Sherlock instructed, walking in the centre.  
“Then, why are you doing it?”  
“Don’t touch the rails themselves, and you’ll be fine.”

“What are we looking for?”  
“Bombs. Parliament’s in session, and this…this is what the terrorists have been after all along.”

Walking ways more, Sherlock took the torch from Jane and shined it up, showing several blinking red devices in what looked like almost putty.  
“This is directly under the parliament building,” Sherlock said in a low voice.

“I really think we should call the police.”  
“What good would that be?” Sherlock huffed at the idea.  
“All kinds of good…because from the looks of it, I think we might be out of our league a bit.”

“Nope, no police. Let’s go.”   
Glaring at the back of Sherlock, Jane pulled out her phone to see that there was no service.  
“Jane?” Sherlock knowingly asked without turning around.  
“Coming.” She replied, shoving her phone back into her pocket.

After walking a little more, they began to see the outline of something large. Shining her torch, Jane saw the lost compartment.   
“It doesn’t seem anyone’s in here,” Jane said, climbing up.   
Entering the compartment, Jane and Sherlock looked around. So far, there was nothing overly suspicious. The compartment was empty, nothing bulky…walking around, Jane pulled at a cushion. And there was the ugly mechanical chaos awaiting them. Going to the floor, Sherlock felt around and then lifted a piece of the grating to reveal a giant bomb.

“This…this is bad…” Jane breathed, looking around.

The entire car itself was a bomb.

“Now we really should go and get help, before it is too late.” Jane insisted, backing to the door.   
Lights suddenly snapping on, some clicking and whirring were heard and the bomb roared to life. Looking down at the timer, they saw it was set at three minutes.   
“Sherlock!! Do something!!”  
“Do what exactly?! Shouldn’t you try, Jane, since you were in the army as you remind us all?”  
“An _Army Doctor_ , not a bloody bomb dispatcher!” Jane corrected.

Looking at the bomb, then at Jane, Sherlock’s green-blue eyes met hers and lit up.   
“Jane…leave now.”   
“No. No, I actually can’t do that. The bomb will still get me, I can’t-I won’t leave you again, and more importantly, if we don’t do this, hundreds-thousands of people will die!”  
Looking down at the floor, Sherlock stared at the bomb.

“Mind palace!” Jane gasped.   
“What?”  
“Use your mind palace!”  
“What you think I just have ‘How to Diffuse a Bomb’ just tucked away!?” Sherlock snapped, sounding like he was on the edge of hysteria.   
“ _Yes_!”  
“Maybe.”  
“Maybe if we rip it out??” Jane suggested anxiously.   
“No, that’ll just automatically set it off.”  
“See-you do know something! Please, Sherlock, I know you can do this, so try! Think!”  
Squeezing his eyes shut, Sherlock put his hands to his head.   
“Think!!” Jane urged him, watching their time slip out of their fingers like sand.   
“THINK!”  
Crying out suddenly, Sherlock clutched his head in his hands.   
“You…” Jane whispered, paling.

Tearing his eyes away from hers, Sherlock fell back to the floor and frantically patted around.   
“Um-um-uh-well…” He stammered.

Heart clenching, Jane shook her head a few times.   
“No…no, no, no, this is not-we can’t die here, we have to-have to try!”

Eyes misting, Sherlock met her eyes once more.   
“I’m-I’m sorry. I can’t…I can’t do it. I can’t do _this_.”  
Looking away, Jane smiled angrily.   
“No, this is just another trick. Just trying to get me say nice things, even though-even though you behaved so awfully-!” Breaking down, Jane finally just sat on a bench and put a hand to her eyes.

Lip trembling, she bit it and breathed in and out a few times.   
“I wanted you-not to be dead.” She hissed.   
“Well…be careful what you wish for. If I wasn’t here, you’d still have a chance as a doctor, have a chance with your family.”  
“Yeah, I know. Because we’re stuck here, I’m never going to see my nieces grow up, I’m never going to marry you, or see my siblings again.”

Marry me? At this, Sherlock looked confusedly at her. Reading his expression, Jane looked even more upset and folded her arms, bouncing her leg a few times,  
“Yes, Sherlock Holmes, even through all this-I still want to be with you, as stupid as it sounds. Why? I-I-don’t know…I don’t know. I thought I never wanted to see you again.”

Closing her eyes, Jane breathed in deeply.  
“This probably just sounds like gibberish to you…it doesn’t matter, we’ll be dead in a minute.”   
“But…for the minute and twenty-three seconds…let me say this.” Sherlock requested, coming up to her. “I am sorry. I am sorry for the hurt I caused you. I’m sorry for leaving you alone for two years. I am sorry that you thought my death to be your fault. I cannot promise you anything…what with the record I keep, but I will do my utmost best to stay with you…even if it is only a minute now.”

Rising, Jane looked up at him and swallowed hard. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust Sherlock, and think that nothing like this would ever happen again. But…no matter who she was, or where they’d be in life, Sherlock would always be the first face she searched for.

Her hands resting on his forearms they slid up and curled around his body. Holding him close, Jane put her head on his chest and held him even tighter, waiting for the outcome. Head resting on hers, Sherlock’s arms clenched around her body as if he were afraid she might fly away.

After a moment, Jane tensed her body. It had been far, far, longer than a minute. Feeling Sherlock shaking, she pulled away to find him giggling. Not just giggling, he was full out laughing, his face red and tears in his eyes.  
“You-! You complete-!”  
“-Y-your face, you-” Leaning against the wall of the compartment, he clutched the side of his stomach.  
“You asshole, I knew it, I knew you were up to something!” Jane yelled, her voice shrill with relief and embarrassment.

“I totally had you.”  
“The-there was a way to switch the bomb off?!”  
“There’s always a switch, Jane! Otherwise, terrorists would find them in an armpit of trouble.” Sherlock explained.  
Face burning, Jane clenched her fists.

“You-!” Turning at the sound of footsteps, she saw a bomb squad running their way. “And you called the police?!”  
“And I called the police,” Sherlock confirmed.

Stalking up to him, Jane jabbed her finger into his chest.  
“If you ever tell _anyone_ about this, you are as good as dead!” She said, chest heaving.  
“Scout’s honour.” Sherlock promised, winking at her.

***

Entering the flat, Sherlock discarded his coat over a chair, while Jane took off her shoes and kept them at the door. Entering the kitchen, Jane sank into a chair and rubbed her tired eyes. Filling the kettle with water, Sherlock turned on the oven and got two mugs ready.

After the kettle boiled, he poured the steaming water into the mugs and brought the black tea over to Jane. With only slight hesitation, he set it down and then sat across from her. Staring at the tea (which was in her RAMC mug), Jane hesitantly reached for it and took a sip.

“No sugar. Nice.”  
Sipping his milky tea, Sherlock inhaled deeply. The tension between them was fully dissolved, and all over a mug of tea and an atypical proposal.

“My music stand. You…kept it up.” Sherlock observed.  
“Yeah. One thing I couldn’t…couldn’t take down, you know.” Jane shrugged, stirring her tea.  
“My violin. Did you sell it?” He asked almost cautiously.  
“What? No, no, I didn’t. I-couldn’t. Wait here.” Getting up, Jane went into Sherlock’s room.   
Reappearing with his dusty case in hand, she lay it down.

“Here.”  
Hands hovering over the case, Sherlock looked at the case the way people do when they see an old photo or memory. Gently, he unlatched the case and pulled out his violin. Lifting it to his shoulder, Sherlock cringed at how out of tune the violin was.

Putting it back in the case and wiping the dust off his hands, Sherlock looked fondly at his violin.

“Needs some tuning.”  
“We can take care of that tomorrow.” Jane hummed, smiling at him.

Looking at the clock, Sherlock stood up.   
“It’s late. We should probably rest.”  
“‘We’? Does that mean you’re actually…sleeping?” Jane blinked.   
“Yes, I am a bit tired,” Sherlock admitted.

Looking down a bit sadly, Jane nodded. “I never thought I’d hear you say that line.”  
Taking his case, Sherlock nodded at her to come in with him to his room for a moment.   
“What…happened to you? I mean, how? How did you do it?” Jane asked, standing at the edge of his bed.

Laying on his back, Sherlock stared at the ceiling.   
“It is a long story…for another time, perhaps.”  
“Yes. Of course.”

Respecting his privacy, Jane lay on the bed as well, before turning to face him.

“Just one…one question. You can just nod your head, or shake it…or even do neither. But…was it truly awful?”  
Sherlock hesitated before giving the smallest nod. Scooting closer to him, Jane’s strong hand curled around his neck and the other swept through his curls.

“I’m sorry…” She whispered, kissing his hair, then his cheek. “I am truly sorry for what you had to endure.”

Propping herself up on one arm, Jane looked into his eyes, her right hand sliding down to the side of his face. He looked older, in a way. His eyes were a little more harrowed, he had gained more weight and muscle, and there were dark circles under his eyes. How much he had grown, and how much he had changed. Jane could never imagine Sherlock from the past acting this way. Even though he changed, and was different, she loved him. Perhaps she loved him even more than she once did.  
_No matter who you are…no matter what you’ve done…how much you’ve changed…how much you’ve failed or succeeded, you are still my Sherlock. And at the end of the day, I’ll always come back to you._  
Making this silent promise, Jane looked into his deep and discerning eyes. His large hand covering hers, Sherlock leaned up and kissed her. At first, it was a small, tender and chaste kiss. But after so much time apart…after so many sleepless nights alone…after so much time staring into the shadows, after so much time being alone…he wanted her.

They kissed as if the other were air and they desperately needed to breathe. Turning slowly so her back hit the cushions, Sherlock’s arm slid under to support her back. Leaning in to the kiss, Jane tried to recall what he tasted like, what he smelled like. The taste of too sweet tea and saliva, the smell of sandalwood, chemicals, and shaving cream. It was Sherlock.

Breaking apart reluctantly, Jane brushed her lips gently against his one last time before pulling back fully. Catching his breath, Sherlock tucked a lock of her hair against her ear. After so long…he was finally home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try really hard to get back into writing Sherlock. Even if the next story is the last one I write, I will try hard not to leave you all hanging when they're getting married!! Just, no.   
> It's been hard finding inspiration to write Sherlock, due to my other project, and the fact that the television show is most likely over. But, I will work hard to have inspiration and do my best!  
> Thank you all so much for reading, I love each and every one of you!

**Author's Note:**

> Also, here is my tumblr! While I am on vacation, I just might post some sneak peaks and the likes, so keep your eye on that ;)
> 
> https://janelockholmes.tumblr.com/


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